


a love so much refined

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Devil's Cub - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: "Your transformation into a doting husband astounds, but you must also be seen out and about in order to ensure no one questions the legitimacy of the story we've concocted."
Relationships: Dominic Alastair/Mary Challoner
Comments: 48
Kudos: 241
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	a love so much refined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/gifts).



> Title from "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne. Thanks to my lovely betas for all the help. <3

When the Duke of Avon announced the wedding of his son and heir, the Marquis of Vidal, to Miss Mary Challoner, the granddaughter of his good friend, Sir Giles Challoner, he hoped that it would be naught but a nine days' wonder. Contrary to the Duke's hope, gossip had not died down while the newlyweds were on their honeymoon, and in fact it was still going strong upon their return to London, even without the ton being privy to the full story of their adventures together. 

As Mary was more diverted than upset by the wagging tongues, Vidal was of a mind to be generous; should the gossip turn against them, his mood would turn to match. 

Currently, he was pleased to note that Mary was being treated well at the many social events his father insisted they attend, even though all he wanted to do upon returning from Italy was stay at home and ravish his lovely bride. They had been back in England for a fortnight, and were still being required to participate in all the social rituals that filled him with ennui. 

Mary had already spent the morning receiving callers and Vidal was tired of sharing her with the entirety of the civilized world. He said as much to his esteemed parents as they lingered after an excellent luncheon.

"Your transformation into a doting husband astounds," said the Duke between sips of steaming hot coffee, "but you must also be seen out and about in order to ensure no one questions the legitimacy of the story we've concocted."

"But why would they question it, m'lord?" the Duchess said. "It is a wonderfully romantic story, vraiment."

"And it's almost within shouting distance of the truth," Mary added, amused.

"I will shoot anyone who dares look askance at my Mary," said Vidal, surprisingly grateful that she had not brought up the fact that he'd once been one of the philistines who hadn't appreciated her, and had deserved the shot she'd taken at him. It was his favorite scar, if only because he'd remember the steely resolve in her eyes for the rest of his life.

"No," said the Duke, setting his cup down precisely on its saucer. "I understand the impulse, but alas, you will not. If we are to stay ahead of the whispering tongues—Miss Sophia Challoner's among them—then you must behave with the utmost decorum and not put a single toe out of line." 

Vidal opened his mouth to argue but Mary laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm afraid I must agree with His Grace," she said. "As much as I would enjoy another trip to France with you, I'd rather it not be with the Bow Street Runners on our heels."

Vidal lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. "As you wish, my dear." He inclined his head in the Duke's direction. "And you, sir."

"Such filial piety," His Grace said with some hint of irony. "While you are in such an accommodating mood, you will oblige me by putting in an appearance at Lady Sefton's ball tomorrow evening, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell's rout this Friday, and Lady Beverley's musicale on Sunday afternoon. As well as any other invitations your mother deems appropriate over the course of this Season."

"We have already accepted the invitations," Mary said demurely, but her eyes sparkled with warmth and good humor. "Even the musicale."

"Your sacrifice is noted," the Duke responded, and dismissed them, the ghost of a smile in the smallest curve of his mouth. His appreciation for his daughter-in-law only proved to Vidal how perspicacious he truly was.

* * *

Vidal supposed he should be vexed at the way his wife and his father saw fit to arrange his life, but he knew the Duke was correct—he usually was—and it amused him that the only scandal he now wished to attach to his name was one in which he danced too frequently with his wife and overset some fusty dowagers' notions of decorum. Now that he had a wife he was quite ridiculously in love with, he had no use for society's petty restrictions on such things, and Mary had been pleased to indulge him in this manner of flouting propriety, at least until the Duke called them both to account for it.

At Lady Sefton's, Vidal danced the first two dances with Mary, but left her with Juliana when the Duchess tapped his elbow with her fan, and said, "Dominique, you must dance the minuet with me."

He bowed correctly and offered his hand. "Yes, Maman." The Duchess was always an amusing conversationalist, but even she could not divert his for attention long; it was always Mary, in her green gown, upon whom his eyes were fixed. He imagined stripping her out of it, leaving her only in the ornate necklace of emeralds adorning her décolletage as he lowered her onto their bed. 

He was startled from his reverie by the tap of his mother's fan on his arm. "Dominique, are you listening?" 

"Yes, Maman," he said dutifully, and pulled his attention back to her from his wife.

* * *

Later, while playing whist in the card room with Charles Fox, the Dowager Countess of Sondes, and her companion, Vidal found himself recounting the story of his marriage yet again. The more often he told the tale of his and Mary's long-standing, secret engagement, the more he believed it (except for the part where Mary swooned into a malaise over his exile; that was a bridge too far, though her indignation was outweighed by his and his parents' insistence on the point's inclusion in the fabrication they'd created), and the more he believed it, the less it felt like a lie. 

He _had_ noticed her while he was pursuing Sophia. He'd dismissed her as devilish strait-laced and unlikely to indulge in any scandalous behavior (how wrong he'd been on that count!), and so not worth the effort when Sophia was ripe for the plucking, but he'd noticed her fine eyes and even finer figure all the same. 

And he _had_ been impressed with her spirit upon being abducted, and yet still found himself playing the cad to the hilt, so nothing of a romantic nature had occurred. His own behavior had been far more sordid than he would care to recall, let alone admit.

He had won her over in the end though, despite his beastliness. She seemed to see through it to the heart of him, in a way he had never thought possible (had never thought there was much heart there to see, at least not any that didn't already belong to his dear maman), and it had been that surprise as much as anything that had inspired in him an abundance of admiration for her.

"How delightfully romantic," the companion said, seemingly sincere in her glee. 

"Indeed," said the Dowager Countess dryly. 

Vidal eyed her with some vexation; she was a friend of his parents', which meant she was sharper than average and somewhat immune to his charms. Should he convince her, however, she'd be a staunch ally. 

"And now you are quite disgustingly domestic," Charles murmured with playful mockery.

"Just so," Vidal had to admit ruefully, earning an approving look from the dowager. 

Later, as he bid her a good evening in order to return to the ballroom, she said, "Your sincerity is a good deal more persuasive than your storytelling, Vidal."

"I will take that under advisement, my lady."

She tapped his forearm with her fan. "See that you do."

He said as much to Mary in the carriage on the way home. "Perhaps sincerity _would_ work, my love, where all our well-crafted words fall short."

She laughed. "It is a possibility. You are very charming, Dominic, and a fairly engaging raconteur—"

"Fairly engaging," he sputtered in good-humored protest.

"You know I am right," Mary overrode him. She appeased the prick to his amour propre by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "But please allow me to win over the dowagers and doyennes. After you drop me at home, you shall make your rounds of the clubs and gaming hells and with great sincerity ensure that the gentlemen of your set are not gossiping about us in your absence." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Or if they are gossiping, that they are spreading the tale that we've told."

He pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly, her voluminous skirt preventing him from easily finding skin beneath it. The green silk gown, fashionably draped à la polonaise, became her beautifully, but made ravishing her in the close confines of the carriage damned difficult. "I would rather stay at home with you."

She looked pleased at this admission, but shook her head. "As much as I would like that, our campaign must succeed on all fronts, and this is one where you are best suited to lead."

He sighed, much put-upon, though he knew she was correct. "Am I?"

"Yes."

"And my newfound commitment to domesticity?"

"As your wife, I accept that you will occasionally seek out the company of your friends in gentlemanly pursuits. The Duke will understand."

He huffed because she was right, but he didn't have to like it. "Let us not speak of my father while I'm kissing you."

Mary laughed again, and acquiesced.

* * *

Vidal found himself bored without her as he once again held the bank at Timothy's. It was hard to believe how much had changed since he'd last shown his face at the gambling den, as Timothy's looked almost exactly the same. The mirror he had shattered and the carpet upon which Montague Quarles had bled like a stuck pig had been replaced, but the new items were so similar to the old that the changes were nigh imperceptible.

In fact, it felt as if history were repeating itself when Quarles sat himself down in the seat recently vacated by Vidal's Uncle Rupert, and said, "I hear we're all to wish you felicitations upon your recent nuptials."

"You have heard correctly," Vidal responded coldly. He pushed back from the table and stood. "I must be going. More desirable company awaits me at home."

Unable to take the hint, Quarles followed him out. "I heard that you only married the older sister when forced," he said. "Miss Sophia Challoner was quite put out at her bluestocking sister stealing a march on her."

Vidal stopped and turned to face Quarles, fury vibrating in every line of his body. "I shot you once for insulting my honor, and you were fortunate to live. Insult my wife and I will kill you where you stand."

"I don't think you will," said Quarles. "I think you wish to keep the gossip about your havey-cavey marriage to a minimum." He laughed softly, unpleasantly. "I believe the Devil's Cub has been declawed." With that, he walked away, leaving Vidal to make his way home fuming. 

He paced the bedroom like a caged lion. "It is unconscionable, Mary. Insupportable! That he should speak to me that way about anything, let alone you. The man doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you do. I should have shot him on the spot." He spun on his heel and paced in the other direction. "I should let you shoot him!"

Mary sat on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, looking enchanting with her hair down and a ridiculous nightcap perched on top of her head. "For you I would, but you must know you're my favorite target."

He laughed and dropped onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. "I have the scar to show for it." 

"Mm," she said as he kissed her. "I may have grazed you with a bullet, but you pinked me with your sword."

It still chilled him that he had hurt her so, but when she made light of it, he couldn't help but be amused as well. "Why, Mistress Mary, how delightfully bawdy of you."

She pushed him down against the pillows and drew her night rail over her head, exposing her beautiful breasts to his hungry gaze. Somehow, her ridiculous nightcap remained. "Your influence, Dominic."

He hummed thoughtfully and palmed her breast, enjoying the way it made her hips shift on top of his. "I doubt that."

And then the time for sensible conversation was over; they spoke in heated murmurs and desperate pleas as they brought each other to rapturous pleasure.

* * *

Mary returned to the topic over her morning chocolate. "Sophia, if she is indeed in league with your Mr. Quarles—" 

"He is not my anything!" Vidal retorted.

"Nevertheless, my mother has kept quiet because she is so pleased that one of us snared a marquis—" 

His lordship harrumphed at that.

"And Sophia can be bought off with the trip to Paris she feels she was so egregiously denied." Mary did not sound regretful at all, and in fact, sounded rather pleased with herself as she made this pronouncement. "The promise of Parisian gowns and parties will be enough to ensure her silence."

Vidal raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that rewarding her for bad behavior?"

"No, Paris is a mere consolation prize in comparison to wedding you, my lord." Mary's gaze was full of adoration and humor and Vidal felt himself helpless before it.

"As you wish, Mary. Though I'm not sure Tante Elisabeth deserves her."

Mary hummed in agreement. "There is that."

"On the other hand, she is likely exactly what cousin Bertrand deserves."

"Probably." Mary laughed and set aside her empty cup. "Come back to bed, Dominic." 

So he did.

* * *

Later that day, Mary called upon her mother. Vidal was grateful she did not insist that he accompany her, as he was unsure he could tolerate being in his mother-in-law's presence for more than a moment without wanting to strangle her, and he had no wish to see Sophia—the evidence of his previously appalling judgement—again. Mary returned home not an hour later with the news that Sophia was to be packed off to Paris posthaste with promises that she could draw upon an account Mary had set up for her to buy as many frocks with frills and furbelows as her greedy heart desired, so long as she kept her mouth shut about anything related to Mary, Vidal, or their marriage.

They had dinner en famille that evening, the Duke as laconic in his approval of Mary's handling of the situation as the Duchess was vocal in hers.

"Well played, Mary," was all the Duke said, raising his glass in her direction. It pleased Vidal to see how Mary glowed with his praise.

"Thank you, sir."

"Voyons, it is not good for the reputation or the self-regard to be seen as the cast-off sister," the Duchess said in between bites of roast capon. "Especially as Mary is taken up as the belle of the Season. No, Miss Sophia knows where her bread is buttered, and it is not in London, hein? In Paris, all things are possible, and she might start anew."

Vidal had his doubts about that, but given his own recent change of heart, he could not deny that his mother might be correct. She frequently was.

* * *

With Mary having solved the problem of her sister, Vidal bent his mind and his considerable will to the question of Quarles. The man's gossip was not gaining much traction—he was, after all, a mere mister, pitting himself against the Marquis of Vidal, who had the full social standing of the Duke of Avon behind him. But there were whispers where before there had been none, and Vidal was determined that no harm should come to Mary's reputation through his actions, even now. Especially now.

He redoubled his efforts to convince the ton of his abiding fondness for his wife. It wasn't hard—he loved her to distraction and wanted her always, so it was no difficulty to wax rhapsodic about her many charms, and to gaze at her adoringly whether they were in company or not—and Sophia was no longer around to spitefully insist he had courted her first. (What he had done with Sophia was not, in his mind, _courting_.)

Vidal told their story with wit and sincerity, and did so over and over again—at the card tables, in the ballroom, and at the races. He found that while he no longer had much taste for cards, racing was still a joy. Some part of him was glad to know he hadn't changed completely upon falling in love, but just enough to want to be worthy of Mary's love in return. That alteration in his attitude also shone through to those who cared to look for it.

Quarles slowly but surely found himself shut out of society events, his scandalous whispers unable to find purchase as the ton noted Vidal's devotion. "See how Vidal dotes upon his bride," the wags said. "See how he no longer games until dawn or keeps a mistress in St. John's Wood." The house he'd once kept for that purpose was put to let, and a family of four, shabby genteel relatives three or four times removed on the Marling side of the family, moved in. 

"You've become a proper gentleman," Mary teased him after they received word that Quarles had repaired to the country, driven to rusticate by gaming debts and a lack of invitations. 

"Only because you are a proper lady," he responded, pressing a fervent kiss to her palm. "I should have known it from the start, and paid court appropriately."

"I almost believe you," she said with a wry little smile. "You are quite convincing. But we both know it was not I you chose to abscond with when you set out for France." 

"Only because I knew you wouldn't countenance such a thing, Mary." To think, he had once counted her amongst his enemies. How foolish he had been. "Had I known you then as I know you now—"

"We'd have been marched to the altar even more quickly," she interrupted, "if you knew me then as you do now."

He laughed, knowing it was true, and kissed her fervently in response.


End file.
